Mother Short Stories
by decco6226
Summary: Decco's collection of short stories involving the Mother series written out of boredom or even out of practice, but they are here for you to enjoy.
1. Rock n' Roll In The Basement

The two walked down the wooden steps to Ninten's basement - a small white painted room which Ninten used to escape the outside world and relax. Ness followed his friend, Mick trotting down the stairs behind them happily, then hopping up onto the small white couch that sat up against the wall, a blanket resting on its surface.

The room itself was Ninten's favorite room of the house. Painted a cream color, it held a single barred window near the ceiling at the top of the wall, letting the spring sunlight into light the room up, no electric light needed. Posters of the boy's favorite band of D.C.M.C, The Runaway Five, and many others hung on the walls, and a lever-action air rifle hung on the wall for a display. The rest of the room was quite messy, typical of a thirteen-year-old boy. Song sheets and lyric papers scattered the wooden floor, a black stereo sat near the couch and a small orange amp on the other side. A large cardboard box of records sat nearby on the floor, the vinyls stacked higher than the box could hold, some even sitting on the floor in a messy display. A large black speaker that reached Ninten's chest sat by the couch too, that of which held a binder full of sheet music and a large cassette player on the top. The speaker itself was one that Ninten had saved up for _months_ for. Not only did it have a huge speaker, it had dials and a CD player, and much more.

The boy in the bandana threw his bag to the ground. "Put your bag anywhere!" He cheered happily, grabbing his electric guitar from its stand and hopping on the couch, plugging it into the amp. His father had given him the instrument for his tenth birthday, and he had played it ever since. He took off his jacket and adjusted his hat, strumming away and looking to Ness.

Ness, on the other hand, opened up his bag and pulled out two pieces of vinyl of Benny Goodman and Glenn Miller. "Want to play along to these in a bit?"

Ninten, on the other hand, looked a little disappointed. "Don't you have anything better…? Anything more… rock and roll?"

His best friend smiled and grabbed his guitar as well from its stand, which he kept at Ninten's house for music practice. "What were you thinking of?" He smiled, looking at Mick, who was wagging his little tail excitedly, eager to listen with the boys.

The dog's master leapt up excitedly and ran to the record box, looking through it with excitement in his veins. "It was around here somewhere… C'mon, c'mon, where are you?" With no Luck, he ran to the small bookshelf on the opposite side of the room, the first shelf holding CD's, the bottom holding more pieces of vinyl. He pawed through them. "Maybe it's in the milk crate…? Here we go!" Tossing a Rolling Stones album to the floor for later - a band both he and his best friend enjoyed - he pulled out the green and pink record sleeve: _Rockihnroll_ by Greg Kihn. He smiled eagerly, showing it off. "Wanna jam?"

Ness winked, plugging in his teal electric guitar as well. "You know which song."

Running to the record player, and plugging it into his speaker, he pulled the record out and placed it on the turntable while Ness got the microphone ready in its stand. Good thing they were home alone in the basement - they could be as loud as they wanted.

Ness passed Ninten his guitar, and they stood in front of the microphone once the record started for one of their favorite songs. They tapped their feet to the funky rock guitar beat, smiling, hearts racing playing along to the music. Ninten leaned into the microphone

"We had broken up for good just an hour before, uh-uh-uh, uh-uh-uh-uh-uh."

"And now I'm starin' at the bodies as they're dancin' cross the floor, uh-uh-uh, uh-uh-uh-uh-uh."

"And then the band slowed the tempo, and the music gets you down, uh-uh-uh, uh-uh-uh-uh-uh."

"It 'was the same old song with the melancholy sound, uh-uh-uh, uh-uh-uh-uh-uh."

Both teens leaned in, blasting their guitars.

" _They don't write em' like that anymore! They just don't write em like that anymore!_ "

As they sung, Ninten went deep into his music-loving mind. He loved these pastimes with Ness, and this wasn't something they rarely did. Just the week before they played along to the entire _White Album_ and Ness' vinyl of _News of the World_ , singing so loud Ninten's mother had repeatedly told them to turn it down. But it was never hardcore rock n' roll, either. They had their blues moments. Their moments where they had a duo of _Johnny B. Goode_ , or when Ness' smoothe voice sung _Beyond the Sea_ from Bobby Darin, or Ninten playing his old The Ink Spots records, which still were stacked in the back of a yellow milk crate from the last time Ness was over.

Music gave them an escape from reality. Let them find and discover things about themselves deep inside they never knew about. It was sweet and magical, and awesome. It made the two teens bond closer as friends, and it would always be a part of their lives. Ninten still remembered _The Combat Rock_ Ness got him for his birthday… and Ness still remembered the cassette player that Ninten had got him when he was nine… when his dad told him he would be leaving after that painful divorce… and he still never admitted how many times he listened to the mixtape Ninten made for him to go with it over and over and over again. His ears had rung with The Runaway Five, The Rolling Stones, Benny Goodman, and a lot of the old favorites that they had still jammed out to till this very day.

Was it the fact that they had a love of music to help each other?

Or was it the fact they had each other to help with their love of music?

Or maybe it was the same thing, and they had to look at the different picture: they would always be there together, strumming away their problems in that basement in a world that nobody understood but them.


	2. The Twin's of Tazmilly

June 21st, 2017

That was the night Claus had died.

Claus leaned stoop-shouldered against the tiled pillar inside the Tazmilly Train Station. He sat on the floor, both legs stretched out; he was burnt to a crisp by the sun, and had not washed himself for a month. But the color of Claus' emaciated cheeks was yet pale, sunken. His trousers were ripped, and he wore a decaying black muscle shirt; a month's worth of sweat, dirt, and grime built up around it's edges and stitches. His ginger hair soaked of sweat, yet was crusted by dirt and lice.

Nobody dared look at him. This was all because of them... It began as a series of experiments from some group known as the Pigmasks after the first few months of the war began in February, 2012. At first, nobody would believe it. But as the months - even years - progressed, it soon set into reality. Families torn apart, friends butchering one another, babies strangled in crips - the whole country went to hell.

Merciless onslaughts of diarrhea continued, he crossed back and forth to the toilet, once having crouched down his legs trembled in the act of rising, pressing his body against the tile, he stood, supporting himself with one hand on the wall he walked; ﬁnally with his back propped up against the pillar like a deﬂated balloon, he reached a state where he could no longer move his hips, and still the diarrhea attacked relentlessly, in an instant staining yellow the area around his bottom. The ﬂustered boy was overwhelmed with shame, his body unresponding to his desire to ﬂee, and with nothing else to do, he tried to conceal the color, raking together the little sand and dust on the ground to cover himself, but the circumference of his hands reach was limited, and people looking at him probably thought a war orphan crazed by hunger, playing with his own running shit.

The hunger was already gone, there was no more thirst, his chin lay heavily on his chest. Multiple pairs of feet passed the boy, giving him no interest. But Claus heard all the things the people he once called "friends" were whispering to each other. His ears worked, unlike his will.

"Oh my, he's so dirty!"

"Look's dead to me."

"Shameful, isn't it. Can't have the Eaglelander's seeing this."

His ears alone remained alive, distinguishing the various sounds around him. The ginger couldn't tell what was real anymore. He could have sworn he heard the little taps of his twin brother Lucas' geta on a floor - but then he remembered he was alone.

"Mama!" The little boy had yelled in his head.

He gave up. "What… day is it today…?" He mumbled to himself, and the ten year old fell to the grass. Weak breaths escaped his lungs, and a fly buzzed to his cheek.

What day is it? What day is it?

The fly buzzed away.

They say the last thing that Claus muttered from his last breath was his brother's name.

Deep in the night of the 21st of June, a station worker walked out of his shop for his nightly rounds, and sighed at the boy's body. Walking across the hard, cold floor, he set down his bucket.

"Another one…" He said to himself tiredly. It was already eleven at night, and he didn't want to deal with this. But if he let this stay outside overnight, the corpse would only rot.

He prodded the boy with his broomstick to check for signs of life, and when he found none to be left in the boy's body, he bent down, and started to search his pockets. From the waistband of his lice-covered trousers, something clattered to the grass. Picking it up, he observed a rusted red candy drops tin. The label had worn off, but he knew what they were, as he saw them in shops around town, and sold them for 500 DP each. A small rattling sound came from within the can's core. Curious, he tried to pull the cap off, yet it stood there as if it was attached to the can itself. Or maybe because it was rusted.

He groaned, and looked behind him to his coworker behind him - the only one out of two in town. He raised the tin, showing it off

"What's this?" The worker asked asked.

"Don't bother, just toss it."

He sighed and shook the can again, listening to the small rattling inside, and motioned to Claus. "This one's going, too." He explained. "Those blank eyes tell you it's over…" Standing up, and fixing his uniform, the employee walked into the field outside the station, shaking that tin again and again, trying to guess what could be inside with the limited time he had.

When he got to the edge of the door, he stopped at the beginning of the outside. The moonlight provided little light, but he knew the town well, and decided to toss it out into the feild. Readying a pitcher's windup, he chucked it into the darkness as cicadas rang in the distance.

The can flew for a second, then hit the small waist-high bushes below. It ricocheted off a stray rebar sticking out of the ground with a hollow clink, and flew again to the ground.

The tin clattered hard to the autumn soil with a clank into the grass and weeds. The red paint rusted, the can's cap flew off from the impact to the ground. A white powder sprinkled into the air, and three small white objects, like fragments of white alabaster spilled out amongst the weeds and grass.

Nobody would have guessed they were bones.

Yellow dots glowed on the tips of the tall grass, and very few flew upwards, hovering into the sky. But more dots joined around the tin's impact, the fireflies floating into the night sky like a reverse rain of fire from the greenery. The glowing yellow and light green lights sprinkled the September blackness, hovering, floating, exploring.

The green of the grass turned orange slowly, as if orange light glowed underneath the weeds from the soil. Now yellow and tangerine, the fireflies danced around the hunched down boy by the can - as if he was their prince. Green weeds reflected off orange light, the small boy's head towards towards the dirt.

Slowly lifting his head to view the rain of fire around him, ten year old Lucas looks at the large space of the outside world; dazed, confused. The wide world is much different than it was in the tin, and the endless space is uncomfortable. The pink light from the grass reflects off his cheeks, his blonde hair and blue hood, yellow lights of all different circumference sizes hovering.

He's puzzled; uncomfortable.

Leaning up on a leg, he stands upwards in the pink grass and looks around at the rising fire, his head turning left, then right, then settling forward. Blue hood over his head, he stares into the large open bay door of the train station. As it was rose and orange outside, he store upon the darkness, the blue tile from the evening light, a boy's dead body resting on it's side hopelessly - his torn orange trousers and dirty black muscle shirt that clung to his sweaty skin in the cold building. He was dead - without a doubt. His ginger hair reminded Lucas of…

His eyes widened in shock for a ten-year-old-boy, realization hitting his face like a concerned mother. Bolting into a sprint, he headed towards the cold station that held his twin brother, Claus.

Before the second step was taken, a hand clasped onto his pink-lightened shoulder. Jumping in surprise, he stopped in his tracks and turned his head halfway, fairly scared to gaze upon what was behind him.

A yellow and green striped shirt over a bare arm. Those determined eyes. That ginger hair. A face Lucas always recognized as his own. Claus stood tall, proud, like a God, a smile that erased all of Lucas' worries. It told him it would be okay without speaking the words. And as he store at him, the world around them glowed from pink to yellow, placing Claus in the spotlight as if he was Jesus Christ himself.

Smiling, Lucas turned around to view his brother in full sight.

Nodding once, Ness' action assured what his smile spoke.

Pure orange fire and bright yellow danced around their two princes, the grass a lovely shade of pink. Claus bent down slightly, and pulled his brother's hood more snugly around his head, lightly dusting off the left side, receiving a thankful smile. Afterwards, he turned around, and bent down into the rose grass. The soil glowing hot pink like a glowstick, black and brown rocks and dirt, orange fireflies, his hand reached towards the rusted red candy tin and grabbed it, more skeletal remains and ashes clattering inside. But when he looked at it, the rusted can cleared, showing a clear label with a picture of an assortment of fruit on the front.

 _Fruit Drops_

Both children store at it as Claus held onto it with both hands, smiling. Standing up, Claus handed the can towards his brother as fire hovered. The town was no longer visible in the blackness behind them. Lucas eagerly took the can in his hands, and giving it a small shake, the hard candy clattered inside. Smiling and closing his eyes, the blonde boy hugged it against his chest, never letting go.

Offering his hand, Lucas took it, and holding the tin in his other hand, both twins walked hand in hand into the sea of fireflies.

No words had to be said.

The train left the station in the orange glow, rumbling as it started to cross a large bridge. Inside, the two spirits waited patiently on a bench of the empty train. Lucas smiled, and tried to pull the cap off the tin, but his smaller hands struggled. Patting Claus' forearm, he handed him the can. Smiling gently, he popped the lid off with ease, and returned it. The blonde eagerly dumped two into his small palm, and held it up to his big brother to take one. Selecting one, the children popped them into their mouths, sweetness exploding into their taste buds.

From outside the window, the siblings watch as Pork Army firebombs of yellow dots fall from the sky like rain.

And yet, Claus could still remember that day oh so clearly…

The small package of skin and bone that was Lucas sucked weakly on a _Fruit Drop_ , lying on the bed, clutching his teddy bear close. Although with no energy left to hold the stuffed animal, the arms and legs of the bear were rounder than Lucas'. He let out a weak groan of happiness, but continued to suck.

Claus walked in, and stopped to look at the younger twin, being sure not to change his facial features or make sudden movements, as to make sure Lucas wouldn't realize how serious the situation was. "Sorry I'm so late, Lucas. I'll make you some rice." He said apologetically while he set his bag down.

Weak, shaky words escaped from Lucas' lips. "Up they go…" Lucas didn't move an inch, but rather lied completely still. "And down again…" Claus store at him. "Oh… they stopped…"

"I bought us some chicken and eggs." He said quickly, full of hope. Squatting down, he began to open his bag and unpack the contents. He reached in. "And also-" The ginger boy stopped and took a closer look at his brother. The _Fruit Drops_ had finished a long time ago… what was he…?

He dashed over and picked up the rusted candy tin. Objects clattered inside, and he dumped the contents into his hand with hollow rattles. A green and pink marble clattered into his palm, and he store at them blankley. He quickly leaned Lucas up, cradling him. "Lucas, what's that in your mouth!?" He put his fingers into the small boy's dry mouth, and fished out the object gently: a blue marble.

He was hallucinating…

"This is a marble! It isn't a _Fruit Drop_!" Lucas only store up to the ceiling. Sighing, Claus gently set him back down on the mattress, and forced a smile for him. "I bought you something I know you like." Placing the marbles into his pocket, he went back over to the bag and bent down to it again.

He heard a little voice behind him. "Ni-san… Have one…" Claus turned around. Lucas smiled with chapped lips, and weakly set his hand down on the ground, a rock in his palm. He store blankly to his twin.

"Lucas. What's…?"

"Rice balls…" He placed the rock down, and weakly moved another right beside the other rock. "I made them for you… here… have one…"

He had been eating rocks…

Claus' eyes shone with tears and fear, and his mouth hung open.

"You don't want them…?" And his arm hung there, still staring blankly.

"Lucas..." Tears fell from his eyes quickly, his lips trembled, and he reached into the bag, and pulled out a small watermelon, freshly grown, as Lucas turned onto his back once again. "Look, it's a watermelon." He said, forcing a smile for his twin, and placing it beside him. "I didn't steal it either." He flipped open his pocket knife and cut a slice out. The contrasting color was unreal. Used to just rice all day, the bright pink and black seeds glowed mightily, and Claus himself wanted to bite down into it. But he forced himself.

Ripping off the tip of the slice he just cut, he brought it to Lucas' lips. "Here, have some." At first, he didn't take it. Claus wanted to just yell, "Eat eat eat," but paced himself. Hell, he would've cut his own finger and let him drink the blood. He would've even cut it off entirely for him to have the meat… But the youngest twin took the fruit into his mouth. Flavour and water splashed his mouth, and he smiled smally.

"It's yummy…"

Claus smiled. Everything was going to be okay… He placed the slice into Lucas' palm and layed on the boy's ribcage - there was no chest anymore. "Hold on, I'll make you some rice gruel with eggs." But before leaving, he ripped the watermelon in half, laying it beside the boy's mattress. "I'll leave the melon here for you."

Silence.

"Okay?"

"Claus... thank you…"

The ginger smiled. Everything _was_ going to be okay… The teen picked up his bag, and went to cook, leaving Lucas in his bed. Looking back once, he was out the door.

Lucas lied there, still.

Silence.

 _Lucas never woke up._

Hours passed. A grey sky. Wind blew violently through the trees, ripping off leaves and small twigs. Claus dashed through the storm, his jacket blowing behind him. At night, Claus crouched in the darkness of the house with Lucas' body over his knees, and even when he dozed off, he soon awoke, petting his little brother's blonde hair over and over, even pressing his cheek against his already cold one, and yet he did not cry. The wind howled, the leaves of the trees shook furiously, and in the midst of the storm he thought he heard Lucas' crying voice.

The storm had passed by the following day. The sky, suddenly colored deeply with shades of autumn was filled with cloudless sunshine for June. Outside of the village's shop, the shop owner's feet came out to the grass, and placed a basket down. "There, a special ration of charcoal." He said. "You can cremate the child on the wishing well's grounds. Undress the child, and use dry husks to start a good fire." The man said with a smile as bright as the sunshine.

God it was creepy…

The man breathed out a happy sigh, and looked to the sky. "What a beautiful day…"

An opera record was placed into the phonograph as Nana walked out onto her front step. "It hasn't changed a bit!" She twirled a little to the soft music, and then stretched in the sunlight that gave a good look to the twin's farm house. "I missed this lovely view!"

The whole village would forget them in days. The rotting yellow umbrella on their doorstep, as well as the bucket and small washtub Lucas used to play in. The water and rice jars that stood beside their house. The cooked rice still sat in the house from that night, and ants crawled across the rotting melon at Lucas' beside that was never touched. And yet, Lucas' laughter could still be heard chasing the butterflies.

Lucas… the boy who would wait patiently on the swing that was now broken swing, calling, "Come back soon!" to his brother, before jumping off. The boy who would sweep the house's floor with his teddy bear tied behind his back, like how Claus would give him a piggyback ride. The boy who had put fresh flowers from outside into the empty candy tin and leave it beside the grave of the fireflies. The boy who would get distracted by a floating dragonfly, and would go and chase it.

The umbrella rolled around in the light breeze.

Lucas turning back, holding the umbrella.

Lucas in his underwear peeking out from behind a tree.

Eating campfire sausages.

The youngest twin running around the front of the house nude with a sheet around him, and how Claus would yell at him to stop.

The boy who would put on his brother's large shoes, a basket on his head, and doing an army salute. But the basket would always slip off.

The boy who would sew, and accidently prick his finger, which would cause him to suck on the blood from hunger.

The boy who would crouch by the stream, and play rock-paper-scissors with his reflection.

The boy who would play hopscotch by himself outside

All these activities done in two month's time, and would be forgotten within four days.

Claus was crouched on the hill by the wishing well, beside the large basket with blue trim around it that had held their bedding. It was a clear day, with a bright blue sky, fluffy clouds, and sunshine, which, as poetic as it sounded, contrasted with the sorrow in Claus' heart.

The birds chirped pleasantly as the eldest twin, dressed in his trousers, and a black undershirt, knelt by the basket. Thin, dirty hands picked up the well used, discarded fleece blue hood that belonged to his brother, which lay on the grass. He also picked up the small drawstring bag the Lucas owned, which held the little DP he had collected, as well as the few beanbags and marbles he owned. The dirty boy brought them into the basket, placing the bag by his side. With a heavy heart, he brought the boy's treasured teddy bear and the rusted candy tin from the grass, and placed them inside. He tucked his little brother's stuffed toy under his right arm, which would clutch it against the ribs that showed through the skin and even the yellow and red striped shirt he had on. He placed the rusted tin against his left chest, and then froze, and took the tin back, staring at it. Placing it down in his pocket, he reached over, and retrieved the basket's top, and dragged it over softly.

He had failed…

Claus held the basket's lid to the side, above the basket's bottom, and store at his younger brother for the very last time for about ten seconds, keeping Lucas' picture in his mind. His face was paper white, streaked with dirt and grime. His hair was messy, matted, and unkept. His eyes, which once contained so much life and happiness were sunken into his skull, and yet, even though his brother was gone forever, and suffered greatly, he looked very… calm… peaceful.

Not taking another second to look at Lucas' dead face, the older brother slowly placed the lid on, and concealed his brother inside. As he had been told, the boy spread the shells of soybeans, lined up the dead branches, and emptying out the charcoal, he placed the basket on top. Three strikes of a wooden match, he transferred the small flame to a piece of kindling he held between his fingers, and without hesitation, he tossed it in.

The shells split with a crackling sound, and blazed up while Claus watched the smoke floating fitfully upward, and one line of smoke with great force shot up to the sky. And Claus, adjusting his form, store into the flames that ate up his brother… that ate up his family…

And yet, he did not cry, but only sat there.

He had failed to protect his brother...

As the day drew near it's end, the charcoal moaning lowly flickered red in the wind. The sky started to turn pink into sunset, and the flames were still roaring, but less mightily. And when even ate the sky and turned it blue, the fireflies rose up out of the grass, providing much light into Tazmilly. To Claus, they were no longer to be caught, because like this, Lucas wouldn't be so lonely. The fireflies would be at his side. Flying up, flying down, now flying to the side, and it wouldn't be long till the fireflies would be gone, but Lucas will go up to Heaven with those fireflies.

In the middle of this night, it was still quite dark, and Claus could not see into the pit where the fire was, so he lay beside it, staring at the rain of glowing dots that his brother was with.

He took a break into the night to eat his last riceball, staring into the distance. The next day, he planned to collect the white bones, like fragments of alabaster broken into fine pieces, and he would walk away from the well.

"The next day, I put some of Lucas' ashes into the candy tin, and climbed down the hill… I never went back to the farmhouse."

Lucas' voice called in the distance. "Ni-chan!"

Claus sat on the bench in a red and orange colored grass, dressed in his shorts and green and yellow striped shirt. He held the candy tin by his side, and he looked up towards the voice as fireflies danced around him.

Lucas, hunched down in the grass, stood up, and smiled at Claus, and caused him to happily run into his direction through the black and red grass, his arms flailing everywhere happily, fireflies leaping out of the grass where his shoes hit like splashing in rain puddles, and the yellow fire danced too.

Retrieving his teddy bear from Claus' lap, he crawled up onto the bench beside him, and kicked his dangling legs, looking up to his brother and smiling. His face was clean, joyful, his clothes were new… he happily took the candy tin from his twin when his brother handed it to him, and happily swung his legs and bounced on his bottom.

"Time for bed, okay?"

He hummed a 'yes', and rested his head on Claus' thigh, and instantly fell asleep with a smile on his face. But the eldest looked forward into the distance with a frown. While his brother slept with a smile, Claus stood up with a frown, looking at the lights that were on in the Tazmilly village that night. The same village that had cremated his body along with twenty or thirty other children that had died as unsurvived souls. Forgotten in a world in which nobody ever cared about them.


End file.
